by Beverly Farr
Maybe he was finally accepting the fact that she was marrying Phillip.
She clicked over to the Midas Online Auction home page. The dancing penguin seemed to look at her knowingly. She glanced at the favorite’s list. Perfect Texas Wedding had risen to the number four slot.
She clicked again. Bidding had reached fifteen thousand dollars.
It was insane. What were people thinking? Why did anyone want to go to a stranger’s wedding? Obviously there were a great number of people with more money than sense.
She sighed. In two and a half weeks, she’d be safely married to Phillip and on her honeymoon.
She clicked back to the sheets site. She chose the two day shipping costs so it would arrive in time.
#
Ginny was unpacking stoneware in Derek’s kitchen, when Miranda knocked on the front door. “Youuu hooo,” she called, letting herself in. “Virginia?”
“In the kitchen,” Ginny returned loudly.
Miranda looked at the stacks of packing boxes with dismay. “Don’t you have an assistant who can do this?”
Actually, Ginny had hired temporary help to move the big pieces, but she wanted to do the dishes herself. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What do you need?”
“I’ve been talking to a reporter from the Dallas Register. She’s writing an article.”
“On what?”
“On your wedding, of course. You and Phillip are going to be the feature article in the Sunday bridal section.” Miranda was of the generation that still bought a Sunday newspaper.
Ginny took a deep breath. No doubt Miranda thought she was doing her a favor, but Ginny felt as if a noose was tightening around her throat. The last thing she wanted was more publicity. “And whose idea was that?”
Miranda smiled. “Each of my weddings was featured, and now it’s your turn.”
“I don’t have time for this, Miranda. I’m busy.”
“Oh, I’ve already given her most of the information. She just needs a few quotes from you. I’ll bring her right over. It will only take a few minutes.”
From past experience, Ginny knew that Miranda’s “few minutes” had a way of taking over an afternoon. She sighed. “All right, but I’m going to keep —--” Her mother had left before she finished her sentence. “—--working.”
Ginny was loading the brightly patterned plates into the dishwasher when Miranda returned with the reporter five minutes later. The reporter was a tall, thin woman in her early thirties. “I appreciate your taking the time to see me,” she said. “I know you must be busy, getting your house ready.”
Ginny wiped her hands on a new dishtowel. “This isn’t my house. I’m working here. I’m a designer, an interior decorator.”
The reporter smiled. “I must have misunderstood.” She flipped through her notes.
What had Miranda been telling her?
“If I’d known we were going to have a party, I’d have bought food.”
Ginny turned to see Derek in the kitchen doorway.
“Derek!” Miranda said happily. “How nice to see you. I love the way your house is looking.”
Ginny noticed that Miranda’s compliments were for him, with none for her.
“Thank you. Ginny’s done a great job,” he said smoothly. He spoke to the reporter. “And you are?”
“Jess Davis. I’m with the Dallas Register,” the woman said, shaking his hand.
“Derek Landon. Nice to meet you.”
“Derek?” the reporter sounded confused and looked at Ginny for clarification. “I thought your fiancé’s name was Phillip.”
“It is,” Ginny said quickly. “Phillip Stewart. Mr. Landon owns this house. I’m decorating it.”
“Oh I see,” the reporter murmured, smiling up at him.
Like ants to the sugar bowl, Ginny thought with distaste. Did Derek even notice the way women gathered around him?
“Don’t mind me,” Derek said. “I just came home to get something to eat, and I’ll get out of your way.” He opened the refrigerator. “Ginny, did you finish the milk?” he asked casually.
He made it sound as if she lived there and should know what was in the refrigerator. Ginny didn’t know if he was trying to keep the reporter at bay, or needle her, but either way, she chose to ignore the question. She spoke to the reporter. “What do you want to know?”
“How did you and Phillip meet?”
“We met at a cooking class.”
“I once met a girl at the Laundromat,” Derek volunteered. “She was a pretty thing, reading a murder mystery. She didn’t even look up when her dryer finished.”
She’d like to murder him. Ginny gritted her teeth. “No one’s interested in your story, Derek.”
He opened a package of whole wheat bread. “I have to disagree,” he said in a quiet voice only she could hear. “I think the reporter and your mother would be very interested in my story.”
She hissed, “You promised!”
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
“Am I missing something?” Ms. Davis asked.
“No,” Ginny said quickly. “Phillip and I met at a cooking class offered by one of the health food stores. I wanted to learn how to cook, and he was trying to lower his cholesterol.”
“Now that’s romantic,” Derek said dryly. “Much more romantic than a Laundromat.” He walked over to the counter and started making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Too much jelly, she noticed. She shouldn’t be surprised. If no one was around, he’d eat it with a spoon.
“What happened next?” Ms. Davis asked.
He dumped the hot clothes on my lap, she thought, remembering how she’d jumped. But the woman wasn’t asking about Derek. She said, “We started talking, got to know each other gradually, and after a few months, Phillip asked me out to dinner.”
“What a mad, impetuous, fool,” Derek said under his breath.
Derek had asked her out within five minutes.
Ginny spun around to face him. “Don’t you have something better do to?”
“No, I want to hear all about your love story.” He grinned, and took a bite of his sandwich. “Maybe I’ll get some pointers on how to improve my own love life.”
Miranda laughed, “I doubt you need that.”
Ms. Davis watched their interaction with interest.
Ginny wanted to scream. If she didn’t wrap up this interview soon, there was no telling what would happen. Derek was in a dangerous mood. She felt like she was walking a tightrope over a steep canyon. “Is there anything else you need to know?”
“Oh yes.” Ms. Davis reluctantly dragged her attention away from Derek. “How long have you been engaged?”
“Eight months.”
“Is this your first marriage?”
Ginny froze. The tightrope was swaying back and forth.
Derek swallowed. “Yes, Ginny, tell us. Is this your first marriage?”
His blue eyes were alight with mischief. Damn him. He liked seeing her squirm.
“Yes, it’s her first marriage,” Miranda said clearly. “It’s Phillip’s second, but her first.”
Ginny took a deep breath. Steady, steady. She could keep quiet, letting Miranda’s answer stand for hers, but it would be a lie.
Some could argue that she’d been living a lie for the past nine years, but she had never spoken the lie out loud. She’d merely kept her past a secret, letting others assume what they would.
It was time to risk a free fall. “No,” she said clearly. “It will be my second marriage, too.”
Derek looked at her approvingly. “Good for you, Ginny. They say confession is good for the soul.” He nodded to the two other women. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
He left.
Miranda looked dazed. “You were married before? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We can talk about this later,” Ginny said quietly. She spoke to the reporter. “Do you have any other questions?”
�
��I’m sure I could think of some,” she said wryly.
“No doubt, but I’m out of answers today,” Ginny said quickly. “You’ll have to use what you have, or write an article about someone else. Good day.” Ginny escorted her to Derek’s front door.
“That wasn’t polite,” Miranda said when she came back to Derek’s kitchen. “You practically threw her out of the house. It’s not a good idea to offend the media.”
“Miranda, please! I don’t want all my dirty laundry aired in public!”
Her mother was thoughtful for a moment. “It was Derek, wasn’t it?”
Ginny didn’t know whether she should be amazed by her perceptiveness or alarmed that their arguing had made it obvious. “Yes.”
“When?”
“For a few months in college. It was a mistake.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’d say your mistake was in letting him go.”
“Why? He wasn’t worth millions back then.”
“Cynicism doesn’t become you, Virginia,” Miranda said in a superior tone. “Does Phillip know?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ginny told Phillip that evening, after dinner. They sat on her couch, facing each other. He was quiet for a minute, then said, “Thank you for telling me. I can see this was difficult for you.”
She scanned his face, trying to see if he were really as calm as he appeared. “You’re not upset?”
“Why should I be? As you say, the marriage only lasted a few months. In the scope of things, it hardly matters. Besides, I already sensed that you’d been hurt before. Perhaps that’s why I was drawn to you.”
Her heart filled with gratitude. He was too good. She didn’t deserve him. “I think I was mostly concerned about looking foolish. It doesn’t say much for my character that I jumped into marriage and lived to regret it only weeks later. Marriage should mean more.”
“No,” he argued. “You’re too hard on yourself. It takes great character to realize that you’ve made a mistake, and to walk away from it.”
“Thank you.” She kissed him, then pulled back. “Now that you know, does it bother you that I’ve been decorating Derek’s house?”
“Should it bother me?”
“No, but you must admit, it looks –--” She hesitated, trying to find the right word. “Suspicious.”
“I trust you.”
She appreciated Phillip’s vote of confidence, but sometimes she wondered if she should trust herself. She didn’t think Derek’s flirting was serious –- he didn’t really want her back in his life. Maybe he wanted to see if she’d drop Phillip and come running if he asked her to. His ego was so big, he might believe that she couldn’t love another man after him.
But even though she didn’t trust his flirtation, it was dangerous. He was like the ocean waves, gradually wearing away her rock solid resistance.
“Decorating his house is good for your business,” Phillip continued calmly, “and it could be his way of making amends.”
She doubted that. It was more his way of tormenting her. Just like selling the wedding invitation online. But on the other hand, Derek had paid her sixty thousand dollars to save Innovative Designs. When he wanted to be, he could be generous, too. She thought of his friend Ted. “Maybe,” she agreed.
“Besides, you’re almost finished. It would be foolish not to finish the job.”
Phillip was right, but that didn’t make the prospect any easier.
#
“Ouch!” Ginny winced as another dress pin poked her side.
“Hold still and you won’t be hurt,” the dressmaker said sternly.
Ginny stood still, on pain of death, as her dressmaker made the final adjustments to her wedding gown.
“How soon is the wedding?” the woman asked.
“Twelve days.”
The dressmaker took a pinch of fabric at the waist. “I don’t know what it is with you girls, dieting before the wedding. You were thin enough before. Now there won’t be enough of you to hang onto.”
“I’m not dieting. I’m stressed, that’s all.”
“Worrying about the wedding night?” the woman joked.
Actually, sleeping with Phillip was the least of her concerns, Ginny realized. It was decorating Derek’s house that had turned her into a nervous wreck. She jumped at sounds, expecting to see him at any minute, wondering what he’d say, what he’d do. But there were only four more days until his interview with Texas Business.
She glanced at her reflection in a large floor to ceiling mirror. The gown was a beautiful dress of ivory satin, fitted tightly through the waist and flaring out over the hips. She looked like a princess.
It was a world of difference from the jeans and tank top she’d worn when she married Derek. But when he looked at her with love in his eyes, she’d felt beautiful.
“Don’t cry!” the dress maker said fiercely, dabbing at Ginny’s eyes with a tissue. “You’ll stain the satin. Save that for the wedding day!”
#
The Amish quilt arrived at Derek’s house two days later. Ginny opened the package slowly, being very careful not to cut the bubble wrapped cloth inside. It was beautiful – a stunning pattern of vivid purple, red, and turquoise eight-sided stars on a field of black. She ran her hand along the cotton cloth, admiring the tiny, uniform stitches.
It would look perfect on the dining room wall, creating a dramatic focal point for the entire floor. But first, she needed to attach the quilt hanger to the wall. “Roger!” she called out, then remembered that her part-time help had gone home earlier.
Attaching the quilt hanger was ideally a two person job, but she didn’t want to bother Derek who was working in his home office.
Ginny found the step stool in the pantry and carried it out to the dining room. She had a retractable measuring tape and a pencil in her pocket, so all she needed was a screw driver. She had a set of tools in her car, but she’d prefer to use Derek’s electric screw driver. He’d let her use it the day before when she and Roger hung the antique mirror in the entry way. He shouldn’t mind if she borrowed it again.
She walked outside to see if he’d left it by the half-finished deck.
#
Derek was sitting in front of his computer, trying to work, but getting nothing done, when he heard her scream. “Ginny!” he called out and raced to the front rooms. She wasn’t there.
He heard her muttered swearing outside and hurried to join her. She was lying, half sitting on the ground, clutching her ankle.
“I tripped over a piece of wood. I didn’t know you had the place booby-trapped.”
He ignored the sarcasm. “Are you all right?”
“Don’t worry. I won’t sue.”
“I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you. Are you okay?”
“It hurts like the devil, but I probably just twisted my ankle.” She held out her hand. “Help me up, will you?”
He helped her up to a standing position, but when she tried to put weight on her left foot, she blanched and leaned against him for support.
“You’re hurt. Who’s your doctor?”
“I don’t need a doctor,” she said firmly. “I’ll sit down for a few minutes, put ice on it, and I’ll be fine.”
He helped her hop inside to a kitchen chair. He opened the freezer door. No ice pack. “That’s one thing neither one of us thought of -- a first aid kit.” He grabbed a bag of frozen peas and placed it against her swelling ankle. “It doesn’t look good, Ginny.”
“Don’t give me your gloom and doom. I’m going to be fine.”
“I know you pride yourself on being stoic, but I think this needs to be looked at by a doctor. You may have broken something.” He reached down.
“Don’t touch it!” she shrieked.
“I’m just unlacing your shoe.” He flinched in sympathy at the pain he saw reflected in her face, then gently, gingerly he loosened the shoelace of her lightweight canvas sneaker.
“I can’t have a broken foot,” Ginny wailed.
“I’m getting married in ten days!”
Ten days was much too soon, but short of kidnapping her, there seemed little he could do to stop it. “Worse comes to worst, you’ll get a rhinestone bootie to cover your cast and walk down the aisle with crutches.”
Ginny shook her head. “I can’t. Miranda will disown me.”
“Then you’ll have to postpone the wedding.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Yes, I would. The more time he had, the better his chance at winning her back. “I told you before I think Phillip is the wrong man for you.”
“He’s not. He’s good, kind, loyal ...”
“He sounds more like a dog than a husband.”
“Oh, be quiet. You’re making my ankle hurt more.”
#
Within half an hour, Ginny knew that Derek was right. Her ankle was not getting better. It had swollen to the size of a football. She needed to see a doctor, but her general practitioner didn’t work on Wednesdays.
“Then we’ll have to go to the Emergency Room,” Derek said.
She was in too much pain to argue with him. He helped her, supporting her as she hopped to the back door that led to his garage.
“Which do you want to take,” he asked, “the SUV or the convertible?”
“Definitely the SUV. I don’t want to mess my hair.”
He flashed her a quick smile, appreciating her humor.
They sat for two hours in the emergency room before speaking to an intake clerk. The clerk keyed Ginny’s insurance and other information into a computer. She asked questions about the injury; how it had occurred. She looked at Ginny oddly. “You look familiar. Have you been here recently -- in the past week or two?”
“No, I haven’t been to a hospital since I had my tonsils removed, years ago.”
The woman looked at her narrowly, then said, “I know who you are -- you’re the Perfect Bride.”
Ginny was surprised. “You saw my picture in the newspaper?”
“No, on Midas. The Perfect Texas Wedding. I can’t believe it.”
Neither could Ginny. How many hits did that auction get, anyway? And what were the odds that one of the viewers would recognize her?
“It is so romantic,” the woman sighed.